


Where was home?

by Black14embers



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Enjolras needs a hug, Gen, Kinda, Oneshot, Sad, War, enjolras' father needs a punch, im running out of tags, ish, its to late for this, songfic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6445777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black14embers/pseuds/Black14embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where was home when he'd been gone so long?<br/>Enjolras, definitely didn't know.<br/>After five years at war where would he go?<br/>Who knows if he even had anything to come back to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where was home?

“ _Don't do this, please.”_

_“I have no choice R, this could end the mess I created. By following my fathers wishes he leaves me alone, he leaves all of us alone.”_

_“You're 19 Enj, don't waste your life on this.”_

_“What else can I do Grantaire? Tell me! What else can I do?”_

_“I-I-I don't know.”_

_“Exactly, I'm sorry Grantaire, I am so, so sorry.”_

_“I know you are.”_

_“Then you'll be fine while I'm gone?”_

_“I'll try to keep sane, if you try not to get killed.”_

_“I can only hope.”_

_“Please Enj, for me don't get shot.”_

_“I won't, I promise.”_

_“Then you go to your damn father, and tell him there's about to be a fourth generation Military Officer in your family.”_

_“I'll write, every chance I get.”_

_“You do that.”_

_Enjolras had gently pulled Grantaire into a gentle kiss, before pulling away and picking up a heavy bag._

_“Goodbye R,” Enjolras said softly staring at him with a fiery gaze._

_“Bye E.”_

_“Love you,” Enjolras had whispered._

_“Love you too.”_

Enjolras remembered the day he'd enlisted, with a heavy heart. He'd told himself it was the only way to get away from his father, but in truth he didn't know why he had enlisted.  
The feeling of righteousness? The feeling of brotherhood? Empowerment? He didn't know.

That day had been over five years ago and it was day he'd regret for the rest of his life. His father had served for 19 years before being honourably discharged, the same as his father. To his father, Theodore Enjolras was a disappointment; shot in an edge of his life and discharged based on injury, after only five years. It was then, standing in an empty airport car park that he, himself realised he'd never live up to his father’s expectations, he'd forever be an unwanted son to a bitter man.

Enjolras stood in his army fatigue with a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. What would he do? Who could he even call? Surely his friends had long forgotten him, or had given up one hoping. Enjolras held weak expectations, especially after his two years of no correspondence.  
He was probably dead to all of them.

Enjolras stiffened his resolve and gingerly started walking out of the car park and found a tree to sit under. The airport sat next to a busy town, with bustling people who had no time for a man like him. He dumped the bag on the grassy floor beneath him and tipped his head up to the sky.

_Courfeyrac would be at home, dancing to Queen, finishing a fantasy novel or helping a friend bake cookies. His thick, brown curls would be dancing in the sun and a smile would have settled itself on his face. He'd be wearing an outrageous fashion choice, uncaring to the stares he would undoubtedly receive._

_Combeferre would be reading an thick non-fiction book; sipping a large mug of chai tea. He'd be jogging down the ward of an ER, passing kids lollipops with a smile and sending a sparkling grin to the reception lady. His glasses would be sit askew on his face giving him an ever boyish look, that was yet cancelled out by the years of wisdom in his eyes. He'd be wearing his usual ugly sweater and navy blue dress shirt, looking ever the professional._

_Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta would be around their small, house with there laughter echoing down the halls. Joly would be furiously cleaning the dishes; laughing while he did it. Musichetta would be at the table watching him with a grin while flicking through a magazine of some sort. Bossuet would be in the garden, watering the flowers because it was a thing he would not dare to break, especially with his clumsiness. Flowers were much to precious._

_Jehan would be sitting in a coffee store with his usual leather bound note book, and expensive black ink pen. His red, hair would be braided in different parts hanging from his head in a thick curtain. He would surveying his surroundings with the look of one who always watches. His notebook would be littered with words and small drawings, a poem already forming in the poets mind. And his favourite drink: a mug of raspberry, green tea would be sitting in front of him billowing with steam._

_Feuilly would be working non-stop, but he'd enjoy it nonetheless. He'd make friendly banter with the customers who came to his bookstore and serve the customers at the bar with a small smile. He'd have a thick book on Poland sitting open on his desk and his cat, Charles would be sitting in its usual perch on the top of the microwave._

_Bahorel would be training at the gym an intense look would be settled firmly on his face. He'd go to the bar straight afterwards and chat up a storm with Feuilly. No matter how much the man denied it, he was a softie at heart. Although he hid it Enjolras knew he'd picked up the small black kitten he'd found mewling in the rain, under his car._

_And then there was Grantaire, what would Grantaire be doing? Perhaps he'd be at the bottom of yet another bottle. Or maybe he was sitting in front of his apartment window taking in the view of the city in the early morning. Enjolras knew for sure, that Grantaire would be drawing. Drawing a remarkable piece that belonged in a gallery no matter how much he denied it._

  
Enjolras was brought out of his musings by a soft voice coming from down the street. The voice enthralled him whoever was singing was certainly good. He picked up his bag and followed his ears. He found himself standing in front of a lone girl, singing a lonely tune with a guitar, unused beside her. She was pretty with blonde hair and a small smile. She was short and petite with a startling pair of eyes, one was a bright green and the other was a dark brown. She wore a quirky outfit composed of floral patterned converses, pale blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Her short hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail.

“You sing well,” Enjolras commented once she had stopped.

“Thank you.” She said turning to face him; a faint blush across her cheeks.

“May I?” Enjolras asked pointing towards her unused guitar.

“Sure,” she said.

Enjolras gave her a small smile, dumped his bag next to her guitar case and picked up said instrument. He gave it a testing strum before picking up a familiar tune. His gravelly voice settling into a sad tune.

“ _Of all the money that e'er I had_  
I've spent it in good company  
And all the harm that e'er I've done  
Alas it was to none but me  
And all I've done for want of wit  
To memory now I can't recall  
So fill to me the parting glass  
Good night and joy be with you all”

The folk song brought back memories he wished he would forget. Flashes of firing a gun and watching a man fall to the ground dead. Of a friend and brother falling down beside him. Stupid men giving stupid orders, getting so many killed. Memories of terror and blood, memories that would forever scar him. Was his what his father had meant when he said he'd be a hero? Was this what heroism was? Killing innocent men and watching your squadron fall dead, around you. If that was heroism, Enjolras was ashamed to been apart of it.

He sung it in a sad tune and soon the girl joined in with the second verse, by the time they had finished a small crowd had joined around them. Enjolras nodded at the clapping crowd and placed the guitar back.

“That's a sad song for once such as yourself.” The girl said after taking a sip from her bottle.

“It's the truth, though.” Enjolras said picking up his bag again.

“You're a long way from the war.” The girl commented motioning gently to his fatigues.

“Honourable discharge after five years.” Enjolras said scuffing his boots on the ground.

“You seem rather lost.” She said her nose crinkling up in thought.

“I guess I am, I don't know if my friends will want me back after all this time.” Enjolras said truthfully.

“Then why are they your friends?” The girl asked tilting her head to the side.  
“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked.

“Why would they be your friends if they wouldn't want you back? That's not how friendship works.” The girl said.

“I guess, it's just I've been away for so long, they probably won't even recognise me.” He said rubbing the back of his short hair.

“Well there's only one way to find out,” She said packing up her guitar into its case,

“Hmm,” Enjolras thought.

He watched as she gave him a beaming smile and shouldered her blue guitar case to start walking away

“Thank you!” He called after her retreating back.

“No problem, I hope you find your home Monsieur.” She called back before she was lost in a crowd of people lining up in front of some bookstore.

“Right, find my home.” Enjolras muttered to himself.

Before long he found himself walking an all to familiar path, down a cobbled sidewalk, lined with looming green trees and large apartment blocks. He walked down till he reached the end of the street and stopped in front of a tiny little flat. Enjolras sucked in a deep breath before taking two looming steps and knocking gently on the door. There was no answer at first, so he tried again.

“Look if you’re here about that damn art proposal I told you no! Just leave me alone, please!”

Enjolras almost fell down at the familiar sound of Grantaire's voice.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras called softly, knocking on the door again.

It took a moment but the door was slammed open and Enjolras was met with a familiar face.

“I told you I want nothing to do- Enjolras?!” Grantaire exclaimed looking up with disbelieving eyes.

“Hello,” Enjolras said in a small voice.

Grantaire blinked again before swearing loudly and pulling Enjolras into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank god, you're alive!” Grantaire whispered, voice muffled by Enjolras’ shirt.

Enjolras didn't say anything, just falling bonelessly into the long awaited hug.

“You're finally home,” Grantaire mumbled unrelenting from the tight hug.

“Finally home.”

 

**Song: Parting glass by Ed Sheeran.**

**Author's Note:**

> Well it's way to late to be doing this but I wrote a oneshot and I'm happy.  
> I hope you enjoyed it.  
> If you want to come and stab me with words, talk to me on tumblr at: onlyoneoption.  
> Thanks for reading! And have an excellent day/night.  
> :-)


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